Swansong for a Raven
by Solain Rhyo
Summary: After a failed assassination attempt on her life, Chloe finds herself striving to survive Lionel Luthor's vengeance. When an offer is made by his son, can she afford to refuse? Chlex and some Chlark.
1. Rude Awakening

_**Author's Note: **This is set mid-third season, after Lex's stay in the asylum and before the death of Chloe's father. I'm a fan of both Chlark and Chlex, which will most likely become evident throughout this story. All comments are loved._

_**Disclaimer: **This applies to the story in its entirety – I do not own nor have I created any of the characters or settings that appear in Smallville. That honor belongs to those much more fortunate than myself._

**xXx**

It was the day her bedroom window exploded that Chloe Sullivan realized the severity of the situation she was in.

The soft puffing sound followed by the cacophonic tinkle of breaking glass had driven her to the floor almost unthinking. A mere second later, sprawled face first on her deep blue carpeted floor, she stared uncomprehendingly at the glinting shards of glass strewn throughout the strands of her hair that had fallen wildly about her face. It took another second for her to realize that she was in pain, and between one breath and the next she was awash in utter agony.

Stunned, mind reeling, Chloe struggled to raise herself to her knees but found that her right arm had been inexplicably rendered useless. Gasping, choking against the constricting torment she found herself besieged with, she fought to raise herself with her good arm, trying to ignore the tiny pieces of glass that, ground beneath the heel of her palm, sliced into her skin. Sitting up, staring all around, she wondered in a panicked daze what exactly had just happened. The sensation of moisture sliding along her flesh drew her attention downwards, and suddenly comprehension dawned on her as to why she hurt so much. Blood soaked most of her right shoulder, staining the pristine whiteness of the peasant blouse she wore; the crimson fluid seeped forth from a hole only several inches above her breast.

_A gunshot wound._

She'd been shot.

As realization thundered through her, she heard the sound again –the distant, muffled thunder that had heralded the breaking of her window. The grey edge of her window frame exploded suddenly, perforated by what could only be another bullet. With a small noise of terror Chloe half-crawled, half-dragged herself to the small night table at the side of her bed, praying that the next shot wouldn't be the one to kill her. She reached up for the phone with one badly trembling hand only to hesitate … who could she call? Not her father, currently away in Metropolis searching for another job; she couldn't worry him, couldn't let him know that she was marked for death because she'd crossed a very powerful man. To tell him would be to endanger him, and she simply couldn't do that. Who then? 911? No, that was too risky, for as far as she knew Lionel Luthor could own some of the police and hospital staff much in the way he had owned her. She had to call somebody … Clark?

Another puff of air from outside, and this time a hole in the wall next to her door appeared with an eruption of wood chips and dust. Swallowing a scream, Chloe fumbled frantically for the phone, and when it was in her hand it took her several tries to dial the number she wanted. By the time someone answered the phone on the other end two more bullet holes riddled her wall, and the powdery debris from their penetration floated about her room.

"Hi, you've reached the Talon! How can I help you?"

"Lana," Chloe whispered desperately, fighting not to cough, to give into her suffering and scream. "Please, I have to talk to Lana. It's an emergency …"

"One second, please," the chirpy, unfamiliar voice on the other end said, and Chloe was left listening to the soft background murmur of the Talon's clientele. Huddled against the side of her bed, feeling the blood from her injury slowly flow down her arm and torso, Chloe closed her eyes and prayed fervently that she would survive this. What if the shooter tried to enter the house? The front door was locked and it was broad daylight, but anyone who did Lionel Luthor's dirty work undoubtedly knew that finishing the job and finishing it correctly was imperative. Another hole was punched in the wall, closer to her position this time, and as Chloe whimpered Lana's voice suddenly came over the receiver.

"Hello? This is Lana,"

"Lana," Chloe gasped, and having a sudden lifeline in this new and terrifying reality made the hot tears she'd been holding valiantly back spill over.

"Chloe? _What's wrong?_"

"I-I need you to come home. _Now_. Please, Lana," Chloe's voice was thick as she tried to control her sobs; it was fortunate, she recognized and appreciated in that moment, that Lana knew her so well as to understand something was wrong just by the sound of her voice.

"I'll be right there," her friend said, and suddenly Chloe was met with a dial tone. Letting the phone fall from nerveless fingers, she huddled against the bed frame, clutching her shoulder with her good hand. Feeling the blood well up between her fingers, she stared at the holes in her wall and wondered if her assassin would enter the house to ensure the job was done, and if she'd actually live to see Lana come to her aid.

**xXx**

It took Chloe a long minute to realize she was no longer alone in her room, and that the person crouched before her saying her name over and over again in rapid succession was somebody familiar – was in fact her friend. She was no longer upright; she had at some point slumped over until she was lying in the fetal position, left hand still clutching her right shoulder. She blinked once, focusing on the concerned face before her, and when she spoke her voice was thin and weak. "Lana?"

"_Chloe!_ What happened to you?" Lana's eyes swept the room, taking in the shining bits of glass spread out over most the floor, the holes splayed out across the walls, the garish trail of blood darkening the carpet that marked the path Chloe had taken in order to reach the phone.

Chloe tried to sit up, cried out as the movement made her entire body spasm in pain, and collapsed limply onto her back. Lana, seeing that the front of Chloe's shirt was a vivid, telling red, made a horrified noise. Chloe lifted her hand, fingers slippery with blood, looking down to see the extent of the wound.

"My God," Lana breathed, reaching out with her own trembling fingers to gently probe the bullet hole. "What happened?"

It was an absurd question, and irritated, infuriated, terrified, Chloe attempted a snort of laughter that turned swiftly into a gasping sob. When she could speak again she said falteringly and with a vain attempt at sarcasm, "I think it's obvious, Lana … I've been shot …"

"By who?" Her friend demanded, looking again at the evidence of the attack throughout the room. "And why?"

_Because I'm an idiot_, Chloe wanted to shout_. Because I struck a deal with the devil and broke it, and now he's after my soul._ Instead she whispered, "I don't know."

"God, Chloe … I'll call 911 …" And Lana reached for the phone lying discarded near Chloe's head.

"No! Lana, please! I can't go to the hospital …"

"Chloe," Lana said slowly and carefully in the kind of tone people use for those they think are in shock, or slow to comprehend, "You've been shot. You've lost a lot of blood. You have to get to a doctor."

"I … can't," Chloe said, and suddenly her body stiffened uncontrollably in the wake of the torture her injury was causing. When her muscles relaxed, when she was able to breathe again, tears were streaming down her face to dampen the carpet beneath her. Lana had retrieved the phone and was speaking into it rapidly, the undercurrent of panic in her voice evident even to Chloe in her current state.

"Lana …" She said, tried to reach out to stop her friend, and found she couldn't.

Lana, still on the phone with the emergency operator, gave Chloe a watery smile and continued talking, giving directions in order for the ambulance to arrive as soon as possible.

It was to the sound of her friend's hushed, frantic voice that Chloe succumbed to oblivion.

**xXx**

Nightmares plagued her, and they didn't all belong to the realm of unconsciousness.

In the periods of time she was awake, drifting through an oppressive haze, she recognized some people. Lana. Pete. Clark. Other times she would struggle to awareness to find a stranger in her room, and she would choke out a question in strangled voice. Always the reply came to her in the form of "doctor" and "nurse" and always that reply would be accompanied by a smile meant to be reassuring. It didn't reassure Chloe. Anybody, _anybody at all_, could be working for her enemy. Anyone in this hospital, be it nurse, janitor or receptionist, could be her next assassin, and it was a thought that haunted her constantly, incessantly, both in the waking world and in the depths of slumber. Paranoia, yes, but the truth of the matter was that Lionel Luthor had that kind of power.

Chloe had never been more aware of that fact.

And so she drifted between one state of existence and the next, fighting always to come fully awake, to gain clarity. Always the fog clouded her mind, making her feel sluggish and incomplete – was she being drugged? She roused herself enough to ask that question of a nurse, who told her softly that yes, she was being sedated; the first time she'd awoken she'd been screaming and violent. This way, the nurse told her, she couldn't hurt herself. Chloe tried to tell her she didn't need the sedation, that she needed to leave this hospital, but the nurse merely smiled gently, and then Chloe couldn't fight her weariness anymore.

More nightmares came, ghosts of conversations past; over and over again she relived the words that had damned her to this living purgatory. Would that she had never agreed to Lionel's offer! His threats, subtle and insidious, resounded throughout her mind, taunting her, promising her that soon, too soon, his quiet promises would come to pass. She ran from him, ran from his voice, and found herself firmly mired within the conundrums of her tortured, apprehensive mind. He found her there, he always did, and it was with a breathless cry she snapped free of him and the nightmare.

She was sitting, head bowed, breathing in quick, panicked gasps. Staring at the unappealing blue of the hospital sheets covering her lap, watching as the fabric darkened here and there from her falling tears, she wondered if ever again know life without a constant threat hovering on every edge of her existence.

"Are you alright?"

Her head snapped up at the sound, and she found to her dismay that she wasn't in fact alone in this darkened hospital room. Seated in a chair in the corner, hands steepled over his chest, was none other than the very son of her enemy and the cause of her distress. Swallowing hard, Chloe averted her face in order to wipe the telltale moisture from her cheeks, and without looking at him she asked, "How long have I been here?"

"Three days." There was a rustle of cloth from his direction; she looked to find he'd lowered his hands to curve about the ends of the chair's arms. "How do you feel?"

A smile, mirthless, flickered about the edges of her mouth; there was a heavy, dull ache in her shoulder, and the rest of her body throbbed. "Like hell."

"I can only imagine." His head, half in shadow, tilted to the side as he regarded her in silence. She was confused as to his presence here; they were barely more than acquaintances –friendly to each other, yes, but it was the polite, professional, distant kind of friendship. Once, a long time ago, he'd told her he would protect her from his father, and she'd known he meant it. And then his father had had him committed, and after a bout of highly controversial and risky electroshock therapy, he'd lost all his memory spanning a period of several weeks. In those memories had been the protection he'd promised her, and quite suddenly she'd found herself alone against one of the most powerful men in the world. She hadn't told Lex again all she'd told him before his treatment, partially because of Lionel's threats and partially because she didn't want to get him involved in a dangerous game once more.

"Clark and Lana have been here almost every hour of every day," Lex said suddenly, intruding on her grim thoughts. "I sent them home and told them I'd wait."

Chloe stared hard at him. Something wasn't adding up. "Why?" She asked bluntly.

His head tilted slightly to the other side, and for a moment she caught the gleam from his eyes. After a moment, he spoke in a measured tone, "Your would-be assassin was apprehended, Chloe, with some help in no small part by our friend Clark. I had the opportunity to see him before he was taken into custody. Imagine my surprise when I discovered I knew the man."

He stopped here, a poignant pause, as though he expected Chloe to say something. She continued to stare at him, bemused and feeling the beginnings of apprehension stir within her.

"He was hired muscle, Chloe, a former bodyguard of my father's. At first, he wasn't willing to say anything, but after some … _careful_ persuasion, he told me some very interesting things." Lex leaned forward in the chair, his features in harsh relief in the wash of dim light. "It seems that my father has accumulated a certain distaste for you. It was he that called for the attempt on your life."

A very tense, very heavy silence settled over the room. Chloe, unable to withstand the intense, piercing gaze of the young billionaire, cast her eyes down to where her hands toyed with the blanket in her lap. So now he knew what he'd known before, but how would he react this time?

"Chloe," Lex said quietly, and reluctantly she raised her head again to look at him. "What exactly happened to make my father do something like this?"

She opened her mouth and closed it again, and a moment later shook her head. She was in deep, too deep now. She'd almost lost her life. It would take a miracle to get her out of this mess, and while Lex Luthor was many things, a miracle he was not. He must have seen her thoughts pass over her face, for he sighed and leaned back again in his chair.

"That's alright, Chloe." He said, and it was disconcerting to be able to hear his voice but not see his face. "You can tell me when you're ready. I won't be leaving until then."

"Lex …" she whispered in dismay. What did he want?

"Sleep," he said. "You need it."

**xXx**

_TBC_


	2. The Subtle Taunt

**xXx**

She did as Lex suggested, albeit unwillingly; she simply couldn't fight off the encroaching tiredness that seemed reluctant to leave her. She lapsed back into the realm of haunting echoes and visages, went back to fighting a fight that she simply could not win.

At some point, driven away perhaps by her utter weariness and by her body's need of healing, the dreams fled and left her in the grip of a deep and untroubled slumber. When next she woke it was slowly, eyes fluttering open to fix upon the dimness of the fluorescent panel lights directly over her bed. For a while she simply very still, gaze unfocused, gathering thoughts both dire and perturbing, trying to get a grasp on the situation, trying to remember where she had gone wrong in order to wind up here. Long minutes had passed before a throat was quietly cleared, and her gaze flew once more to the corner of the room.

"Lex," she said, surprised. She had not honestly thought he would remain, though he'd said he would.

"Good morning," he replied, and from the huskiness of his voice she guessed he'd just recently woken from his own sleep. Most of his form was still shrouded in shadow, and as she watched his body unfolded itself from where it had been draped in the chair and stood. He crossed the room to the door, and adjusted the small dial that controlled the light switch. Chloe screwed her eyes shut as her surroundings were bathed in the harsh, artificial light, and when she opened them again Lex was seated once more in the chair, one leg outstretched and the other crossed over it.

Knowing he was waiting for her to tell him what he wanted, she quickly asked, "What time is it?"

He glanced down at the expensive watch adorning his wrist. "It's 9:00 am. Friday morning."

Friday morning … it had been Tuesday she'd been in her room, standing at her small desk sorting through the myriad of articles that needed editing for the next edition of the Torch when her window had exploded …

"How do you feel?"

Lex's question abruptly reined her disturbing reminiscing in, forcing her to focus on what issues were currently at hand: Lex Luthor, son of the man who wanted her dead. Son of the man that had –although indirectly- been the reason her father was currently unemployed. Son of the man that had played on her emotions, on her girlish infatuation for her best friend, and blackmailed her into espionage. And now the son wanted the truth from her, a truth that had in part placed him in a mental institution only a few months ago …

"I feel," she said, looking studiously at the wall, at _anything_ but him, "Like I've been shot."

He made a sound, one of amusement or acknowledgement she couldn't tell_. Please leave_, she found herself wishing silently, fervently_. Leave and don't ask me questions I can't give you the answer to. _He wouldn't go until he had what he wanted, she knew; though he lacked most of the unscrupulous, undesirable traits of his father, he had inherited the iron clad, subtle stubbornness that made Lionel Luthor such a force to reckon with both within the corporate world and without. It was tempting, so very tempting, to spill her secrets to Lex, to tell him everything that had weighed so heavily on her these past few long months. She ached to share her burden, to dispense of the guilt and the fear that riddled her mind every minute of every day. But she couldn't, she simply couldn't; Lionel had gone to extreme lengths to ensure his son would forget what it was Chloe herself had divulged, and the knowledge that she was partially to blame in Lex's imprisonment was something that haunted her constantly.

She wouldn't let it happen again.

_Even at the cost of your own life, Chloe? _ The question, unbidden, came to her from the reaches of her mind desperate for a reprieve from this private hell she'd ensnared herself in. Ignoring that part of her, ignoring the question and trying strongly to ignore the subsequent answer, she cast her attention back at Lex.

He was motionless, a picture of casual elegance lounging in what had to be an uncomfortable chair. It was something she'd admired him for, his ability to appear totally at ease and completely poised in any situation; it was something she'd wished she were able to do. Arms folded across his chest, features now revealed to her in the brightness of the lights, he watched her with an inscrutable calm that Chloe found intensely unnerving.

As though sensing her discomfort, he chose that moment to speak. "Are you ready to tell me why my father wants you dead, Chloe?"

Ah, the words she'd been dreading, spoken without any preamble. Desperate, she moved her eyes about the room, trying to formulate an outright denial, fighting the urge to reveal to him all she knew. "Lex," she said, and stopped, unable to continue. At a complete loss, she looked to him again with eyes that silently beseeched him to leave, to forget what he'd discovered, to simply let her be.

"I understand why you'd be hesitant, especially when you take into account what's just happened to you. But trust me, Chloe, just because this lackey failed to complete the job doesn't mean my father won't be sending another to finish it."

Though she'd already realized as much as he'd just said, Chloe couldn't help but blanch as she heard her fears spoken aloud. Seizing her reaction for emphasis, Lex stood and strode to the side of her bed, perching himself on the edge near the middle. "You've got to think rationally about this. Whatever he's got on you, it's not worth your life."

_No,_ Chloe thought, averting her face as hot tears flooded her eyes, _it's not. _There was a momentary silence as she struggled to control the fear, the sorrow, which was clawing its way up inside of her, wanting a release.

"Chloe."

The soft yet authoritative insistence in his tone made her turn her head back to him reluctantly. His grey gaze, solemn yet undeniably concerned, made her want to cling to him as a lifeline in this reality that was so rapidly unraveling around her. "I won't stand idly by and watch as my father tries to destroy your life. I've done that too often in the past. I can help you."

"No," she said after a long moment, her voice wavering despite her best efforts to keep it from doing so, "You can't."

Lex drew back and rose to his feet, exasperation and other, darker things flitting momentarily across his face. "He'll kill you eventually." He said grimly, purposefully, trying to frighten her into revealing her secret.

Chloe closed her eyes. She already knew that. Lex began to speak again, but abruptly fell silent, and Chloe re-opened her eyes to find that the room to her door had moved. Seeing who stood in the doorway, a huge bouquet of pink and red roses in one hand and a look of complete, apprehensive adoration on his face, made the tears Chloe was fighting so hard to keep in check spill over break loose and trace moist paths down the pallor of her cheeks.

"Dad," she managed to choke out before she erupted into quiet sobs, and then her father was there, enveloping her in an embrace of roses.

**xXx**

Her father remained with her most of the day, constantly hovering at her side, asking her at least twice a minute if she felt okay. Her reassurances did little to persuade him, but she didn't mind; there was something about her father's presence that made her feel –ridiculously- safe. She cherished the feeling, because it was something she'd sorely missed in the weeks previous.

Lex had left shortly after her father's entrance, saying merely that he'd dropped by to wish Chloe well. The silent message in his eyes as he left warned Chloe that they weren't by any means through; he would return, and he would hound her for what it was she so unwilling to give. He understood, at least, that whatever it was she was entangled in she hadn't included her father, and he seemed content to leave it at that. Her father, however, was another matter, and as he asked her over and over again what happened the day she was shot she realized that neither Clark nor Lex had told anybody that her assailant had in fact been under the former employ of Lionel Luthor. She was grateful for that; for the same reasons she refused to tell Lex what he wished to know she wouldn't tell her father anything of the situation she was in, because to do so was to place him in danger. And so she merely acted as bewildered as he, saying over and over again she didn't know why someone would try and snipe her in her bedroom. Her father seemed to accept her feigned ignorance, and she was inwardly relieved.

It was nearing evening when Clark appeared, knocking hesitantly on the door. Her father ushered him enthusiastically, and urging him to bring his chair – the same chair Lex had occupied- closer to the bed. Clark obeyed, smiling his oh-so-familiar uncertain smile, and joined in the pleasant camaraderie of father and daughter. Inbetween chuckles and indignant exclamations, Chloe caught the glances Clark gave her, the looks of worry and concern. He wanted, she knew, to talk to her about the incident, perhaps even to tell her that her shooter was linked to her greatest enemy. Clark knew of her deal with the devil, and would have put two and two together instantly. The thought of what he'd say, of the way he'd admonish her for hiding the truth, of the way he'd take it upon himself to protect her, made something deep inside her ache.

She couldn't keep putting people in danger this way.

"Well, I'd better be off. Chloe's probably tired of me by now," her father, Gabe, said finally, standing and giving Clark a self-deprecating smile.

"No, I'm not," Chloe said, but her father waved off her protest with a grin.

"I know. But I need to get going; there's a lot of stuff to be done at home. I'll leave you here with Clark. Good night, sweetheart."

"Actually," Chloe blurted as her father bent down to kiss her cheek, "I'm pretty tired. I'm still not feeling all that great."

"That's okay. I'll stop by tomorrow," Clark said as he stood and moved the chair back to its original position, and as he followed her father to the door he gave her a look that was very similar in its content to the one Lex had bestowed upon her as he'd left. He said, in a soft voice audible only to the two of them as he paused on the threshold of her room, "We have a lot to talk about."

Chloe's heart sank, but instead she graced him with a small, unsteady smile, and the one he in return gave her was one of sadness. She couldn't help but wonder at that as the door closed behind them and she was left alone again, and she couldn't help but dread what awaited her tomorrow.

How was she going to keep the people she cared about from becoming mixed up in this mess – _her_ mess?

**xXx**

The next morning she was informed by the doctor that came to check her condition that she would be released in the afternoon, and that her father had already been informed. She was torn between relief and dread at the news; while she hadn't felt safe in the hospital, outside its walls she was most certainly an open target yet again. She wasn't given time to dwell on her concerns, though, because from late morning until well afternoon she was besieged with visitors. While most of them were from school, two were acquaintances she had made during her short-lived stint as a columnist for _The Daily Planet_; their presence both surprised her and filled her with a rush of warmth that they cared. Her room was now fairly flooded with flowers, and after her last visitor had left she climbed out of the bed and made her way somewhat unsteadily over to examine the bouquets. There were several from her father, all of them roses, and some carnations in a myriad of hues from Lana. The staff from _The Daily Planet_ had sent her a nice arrangement, as had her school. She came upon an exquisite bouquet of exotic looking orchids with a small, embossed card that read simply _"Heal quickly, Chloe." _It was signed by Lex. Smiling faintly as she surveyed all the flora cluttering the room, she suddenly felt less alone than she had before.

"Up and walking around, I see."

That voice -that low voice with the slight, distinguishing rasp- whipped Chloe's head around with a gasp. Lionel Luthor stood in the open door, impeccable and imperious in his foreign designer suit and the long dark coat that fell to hang about his ankles. As he stepped into the room Chloe retreated quickly around the bed so that it stood, a pathetic barrier, between herself and the man that wanted her dead. Once inside he cast a swift glance around, taking in everything Chloe had just been admiring, and when his gaze returned to her it was accompanied with an insincere and unpleasant smile.

"Glad to see you're healing fast, Miss Sullivan."

Staring at him, hating him, she struggled to control the scream of rage fighting its way up her throat. Instead she said tersely, "I just bet you are."

His eyebrows went up, and his smile widened. "Such hostility! I only came by to wish you well."

"You," Chloe snarled, hands gripping the metal railing along the edge of her bed so tight her fingers ached, "are the reason I'm in here."

They stared at each other a long moment; his smile faded, and as it did so a cold and clinical gleam grew in his eyes. "It wouldn't be prudent," he said finally, words clipped and sharp, "to accuse someone like me of something that absurd."

"Prudent," Chloe repeated with a sound that was half snort, half sob. If she'd been even a trifle prudent in the past, she wouldn't be in this mess now.

"Something," Lionel said, taking first one step and then another in her direction, circling the bed, "that you obviously aren't capable of being."

She groped blindly for the small button on the cord with which she could summon somebody, _anybody_, to come to her aid. Watching her, Lionel stopped where he was and shook his head. "It would be foolish, Miss Sullivan, to call the nurse in here over nothing."

"Get. Out." Chloe said in a voice that trembled, holding the call button in a tight death-grip.

"All in due time. There's a reason I'm here, of course. I-"

"Hello, Dad." At the sound of the new voice, Lex's voice, Chloe felt her legs go weak with relief. The Luthor heir stood in the doorway, hands within the pockets of his navy thigh length coat, his own small version of an unfriendly smile twisting his lips as his father turned to face him.

"Lex." Lionel greeted, and it was astounding to Chloe how swiftly his voice could go from vaguely threatening to hearty and welcoming. "I just stopped by to see how Miss Sullivan was faring before I left for Metropolis."

"She doesn't look like she's enjoying herself," Lex remarked idly, eyes flicking over to Chloe were she stood on the other side of the bed, face pale and breath coming quickly, before fixing again on his father.

"Yes, well, I was just leaving. I believe she's had a lot of visitors today already, I have no wish to tire her out." The elder Luthor brushed past his son, stopped, and turned to nod in Chloe's direction. "Get well soon, Miss Sullivan."

Lex watched as his father left the room; Chloe made her way back around the bed and collapsed onto it, noticing in a vaguely detached way that her hands were shaking. Fisting them in her lap, she grit her teeth against the overwhelming weakness and futility she felt in the aftermath of Lionel's presence. She was a strong person –she always had been. But Lionel Luthor could strip that from her in a heartbeat, could lay her soul bare in only a few moments, and she hated that he could do that almost as much as she hated him.

"I'm sorry," Lex said from the doorway, and Chloe looked up at him blankly. "For my father," he added. "I'm sorry that he came here."

"It's not your fault, Lex."

He didn't respond to that, instead entering the room and moving to look at her collection of flowers, which had grown considerably in the hours since he'd last been there. With his back to her, he asked almost conversationally, "What did my father have to say?"

Chloe was saved from answering by a quiet knock on the door; both she and Lex looked to find Clark standing there. He nodded at Lex and smiled at Chloe as he entered, holding out for her his own bouquet. Chloe took them with an exclamation; further examination revealed they were calla lilies, her favorite type of flower. "Clark!" She said, beaming, Lionel Luthor momentarily forgotten. "How did you know?"

"Lana told me." Clark replied, tucking his hands in his pockets and smiling somewhat proudly.

"Excellent taste," Lex said. He reached out to take the lilies from her and set them on the small table with the rest of the flowers.

"How are you feeling?" Clark asked Chloe.

"Good. Better," she amended quickly as Clark raised an eyebrow at her blithe remark. "Much better than I did. They're letting me go home today."

"Is home the best place for you?" Lex asked from the corner, where he'd settled down again into the chair.

"It's – it's my home, Lex. Where else would I go?"

"I think you should take some things into consideration, Chloe. Obviously home isn't the safest place to be, considering what just happened to you."

Chloe opened her mouth, closed it, and looked to Clark for aid. But her best friend was nodding his head in agreement with what Lex was saying. "He has a point, Chloe. What's to say you won't be attacked again?"

"I can't go anywhere else," she said a little wildly, as she began to realize what exactly her two male friends were getting at.

"Actually, you can," Lex said.

Chloe shook her head. She knew now where this was going. "I'm going home," she said as firmly as she could, and when both Lex and Clark scowled she began to protest further but stopped when she saw Lana in the doorway, a black duffel bag in one hand.

Ignoring Clark's reaction to Lana's appearance just as she always did, Chloe asked, "Is my dad coming, Lana?"

"Actually, I'm your ride home." Lana offered a quick smile at both the males in the room and moved to sit beside Chloe on the bed. "He was going to come, but he's sort of busy setting up a surprise for you and asked me to come instead."

"I like surprises," Chloe said with a grin she honestly hoped looked genuine; it was hard enough to cope with both Clark and Lex knowing –partially- the truth of the situation she was in, and she had decided that there was absolutely no way she could involve Lana as well.

"You'll like this one," Lana said mysteriously, a ghost of her own grin flitting about her mouth. "Are you feeling well enough to come home?"

"Yes." Chloe said at the same time Lex made a noise of disapproval. Glaring at him, Chloe gestured to the door. "You two boys get out of here. I need to change and get ready to go."

"Chloe," Clark said in a tone of pleading, but Chloe shook her head.

"I'm going home, and I want to go now. I'm tired of this place. I'll see you two later."

She didn't watch as the two males left the room. When they had gone without further argument, closing the door behind them, Lana asked softly, "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah. They're just – they're just being themselves. Overprotective."

"Ah." Lana nodded her head knowingly; she knew that aspect of Clark and Lex all too well. She handed Chloe the duffel bag. "Here's some clothes I brought you. I'll wait outside while you change."

"Thanks, Lana." Chloe said, and was surprised when her friend enfolded her in a very abrupt, very tight hug.

"I was so scared for you, Chloe," she whispered when she pulled away, expression solemn. She rose to her feet left the room, closing the door as she did so.

"So was I," Chloe said quietly.

**xXx**


End file.
